


Christmas Present

by Darklady



Series: Hornet-verse [11]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Really Minor DC Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne at Christmas. Where does one go to buy 'faith, hope, and charity?'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tis the Season

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit old (as in 2000) so no longer set in Bat-Cannon – although at the time it was. Bruce Wayne is the Bat, Tim Drake is Robin, and Dick Grayson is a police officer in Bludhaven. I suspect that many others of the DC crew have changed or morphed from ‘the way they were’. Christmas, however, is a season for nostalgia, so view this as a trip back though changing time to visit an unchanging season.
> 
> For those with virgin eyes? This is set in my 'Hornet-verse and so is technically 'slash' - although 100% sex-free. If hugs offend you... please PLEASE don't read anything I write. We'll both be happier. Honest.

“Another scam. Thank you, Barbara.”

It's not the greed that gets me. I deal with that. It's the fact that Bruce Wayne is really a decent guy. At least I think he is. I want him to be. But the Christmas Season brings out the Scrooge in me.

Four hundred requests. Pitiful stories all. Not one of them that merits a decent dime.

'Tis the season for overpaid charity executives and fat-cat fundraisers that take 75%. Of charity dinners that pay for wine and chefs with nothing left over for any charity. Of 'Missions' who's mission seems to be to pick the pockets of the gullible. Even with the Wayne Foundation staff it's hard to trust. They weed out most of the cons, but at this time of year they are plain overworked. Every grifter in the city is running a 'good will' scam. And Bruce Wayne is a target for them all.

Thank god for Oracle.

I know there are good people out there. People who care. It's just that neither of me meets up with them much these days.

Shondra. My current secretary. She's selling candy for her kids school. I know how little the school gets. Less than 10% of the profit. I buy to keep peace, but it doesn't make me feel good.

Tim's school is a bit more direct. I wrote them a check for the 'Winter Carnival'. A thousand bucks a ticket. Ten for a table. Maybe Lucius will go. Someone ought to benefit, and after the 'organizer' gets paid it clearly won't be the 'poor'. Or is it the 'homeless'. Whatever is this year’s fad.

With everyone so 'charitable' you think Doctor Leslie could close the clinic and take Christmas Eve off. Maybe even come to dinner. No such luck. She tells me it's the second busiest day of the year. Right after New Years Eve. Happy Holidays.

With ‘Peace on Earth’ you think Dick, at least, could get home. Not a chance. Home burglaries and muggings are skyrocketing, and he thinks they'll be on tactical alert.

Tim would come by, but his Dad is in St. Bart. To cold here. Hard on his health.

Memo: Check that with Leslie. Maybe Barbara should take a cruise.

I finished my shopping. That part of Christmas I like. The research. The analysis. The retrieval.

I even like getting presents. The thought of real ones is somewhat new to me. When I was a child. Well.... the toys came boxed, but I knew I was buying my own. Except for Alfred, of course. So I look forward to the real gifts. Kyle's sketches. Martha Kent's jam. The tasteless t-shirt from Dick that I know he'll steal back. The chocolates Tim buys because he knows I won't buy them for myself.

For all the rest? I still buy my own.

But - where do I go to buy 'faith, hope, and charity?'

Not the End


	2. Faithful Friends Who are Dear to Us

The buzz interrupts my thoughts.

"A Mr. Kent to see you Mr. Wayne. From the Daily Planet. Normally I'd call public relations, but...."

"He's on the A list. Not a problem, Shondra." She's new and needs reassurance. "Clark is a personal friend. Send him in."

I rise to greet him at the door. His hair is dry, so he probably didn't fly here. Therefore, nothing serious.

"Clark."

"Bruce."

I don't need to be a detective to notice the large box at his side. "From Martha? I must be back at the top of her sweater list?"

"Don't you ever wait to open a present?"

As if he never peeked. I'd never believe that much of a myth. Even about Superman.

"I will. But I do enjoy her sweaters." I take the box and lay it carefully on the couch. Tonight I'll put it under the main tree. And I won't open it until Christmas. Even if I would enjoy wearing it now. Control is everything.

"So Clark, is this work or work?" I wave him to a chair.

"A bit of both. Willis needs some quotes on the 'Wishes in Wartime' deal, and since I was in town I said I'd pick some up."

That sucks the joy out of the day. Disgusting bastard, Peter Crandon. Director and founder of 'Wishes in Wartime'. Ran a 'gifts and goodies' program. The type with fancy barrels in all the malls. He got a big grant from the Wayne Foundation to transport the toys to Kosovo. He didn't bother. Locked in with a couple of stores. They'd sell the gifts, his ‘volunteers’ would collect them for the 'homeless children of war’, and the toys would be back on the shelves before morning. Batman busted him, but Clark wants a quote from Bruce Wayne.

I think while a pour him a cup of coffee.

"The usual, then. You write better for me then I do." I pour another for myself. "Does it ever bug you?" I really want to know.

"Does what bug me?"

"The creeps. The scams. The constant demands. Superman must get endless requests compared to Bruce Wayne."

"Superman doesn't have an office address."

I smile at that, thinking what Lucius would say if I asked for an unlisted office.

"And Lois and Clark go back to Kansas and remember that there are a lot of good people out there who don't make the news. We help where we can, and after that - let it go. You can't save the world, Bruce. Not even when you're saving the world."

I consider that more a moment. It works for Clark. But who of us is Clark? I change the subject. "If we've covered work, what about the other work?"

He waits until I'm back at my desk. Which means it really is business. I click the security button. Clark twitches a bit. He can hear the sound baffles start.

"We need cover personnel for the holidays."

"I didn't think the JLA recognized Christmas. Or me, for that mater."

"Some of us do. But right now I need someone in Dresher for the 22nd."

My problem with Clark is he sees when I hesitate.

"Hanukkah, Bruce."

"That I knew. Who have we got in Dresher?" Ops. Watch that we. I am currently officially pissed at the JLA.

"Ragman."

"The soul-eater. Is he still active? I don't hear much from there." I think about that for a moment. "That must mean he's doing a good job."

Who do I have? Huntress, no. Not now. Azrael, hell no. Not after that hand bit. Although, come to think of it, it does have a bit of an Old Testament ring to it. Lets not start another crusade.  
Cassandra? Too young. She's missed enough of the holiday as it is.

I glance at my calendar. No major parties.

"The twenty-second? I'll take it."

Which surprises Clark. Am I really that cloistered?

"At least it's better than another party."

Still not the End


	3. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So technically this ones a Hanukkah story. Picky, Picky!
> 
> The Ragman in this story is taken from the 70's series by that name - as recalled by my fading memory. I have no idea what happened to the character in Zero -hour. So if he's now a three-toed sloth? Too bad.

My mistake. There should have been a party on my calendar. The Inter-faith Tolerance Council Dinner. Which makes me wonder who checks their calendars. Shondra felt terrible about mis-listing it. For the check I sent, they can tolerate my absence.

Instead, I'll be lurking the alleys in the rust-belt town of Dresher, hunting muggers, pickpockets, and the occasional Santa-snatcher. Nasty work, but it beats the hell out of eating rubber chicken.

I drove in by six to brief with Ragman. Early for me, but he wants to be off by sunset. Meeting him at, amazingly, his home address. But maybe agents of divine justice don't worry about security.

Standard downtown apartment building. Brick thirties construction. Decent maintenance but not flashy. Which in our business means nothing. Except perhaps that he doesn't want a long commute. Although, now that I think of it, I could list enough dark souls at Riverfront Towers to keep him busy well into the new year.

There is street parking nearby. Good. I'm traveling as 'Matches' Malone to avoid notice. I ease the Buick into an empty space and remember to check the meter. Twelve hour parking. I should be back before then, but I top out the meter just in case. I grab the cases with my gear and head on in.

I recheck the address Kal gave me. Apartment 4-B. The top floor. Logical.

There's an elevator, but I prefer the stairs.

Only two apartments on this floor. A and B. The doors are closed. Nothing for it but to knock. The door swings open before I can.

A tall black woman. Thirty-something and handsome. Very nice dress.

"You must be my husband’s friend. Mr. B?"

'If he is?"

"Yes, yes. Come on in." She steps back from the door. " He's just with the boys for a minute. It's so hard to convince them to wear ties."

I follow her, bemused. Not the hero-crisis I had expected. Although Alfred has had the same problem.

"When Kal told us you were coming... well, I was delighted. It's so hard for my husband to take a night off. The curse, you know.

I didn’t, actually, but much of the Bat mystique comes from knowing when to keep my mouth shut. Better to be thought omniscient than to open one’s mouth and disprove it.

"Ah, Mr. B." A blond man. Tall. Smiling. Well-built if not exactly bulked up. Not quite the movie image of divine retribution. "Can I offer you something? Not wine, of course, but we have milk? Soda?"

"Water perhaps."

I look around. It really is an apartment. Rather nice. Good furniture. Good art. Very good rugs. Someone had taste. But a bit too natural to be supernatural.

"Micah. Get our guest a glass of water. And then finish getting dressed. It's almost sundown."

He gestures generally at his family.

"Kids. So much energy. Now if they'd only use it."

The boy addressed as Micah zooms towards the kitchen, barely missing the sister who is setting dishes on the table.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate this. It gets hard now days. Between television and what the children hear in school, they think Hanukkah is buying a purple tree. It's a struggle sometimes to keep our traditions."

He doesn't sound like the voice of doom either. Then, this is his civilian side.

"I would have thought it was...inevitable. At least for you."

"You'd be surprised. Between the evening news and MTV, not even magic can breach the cynicism. Even my father, with all he saw. He raised me to be 'modern'. A serious mistake, as it turned out."

The boy returns with the glass. Ice and everything. I take it, and his father gives him a shove to his room. "Dress" And then "David, come here." He pauses a moment to adjust his sons tie. "Now, go help your mother."

"That's why I work so hard to keep their faith. Things are good now, but someday? They may not be."

He lifts one of my bags. He may not look overly athletic, but he doesn't seem to notice the weight. "Honey, I'm going next door. Be right back." He turns to me. "That’s where I keep my lair. I don't want to bring the work home. The kids are a bit to young to understand. Except for Josh. He's in yeshiva now."

Apartment A. This is more what I had expected. Candles, alter, mystic insignia. I go first. As he steps through behind me, my host morphs into the more familiar form of shifting shapes.

"The power is useful, but, when Josh or one of the others has to take up the fight, I want them to have more than this to keep them strong."

It's a well-designed workspace, and I begin to lay out my gear. Spandex, nomex, kevlar, weaponry, utility belt. A question returns to me.

"Tell me. Does it bother you?"

"Ripping peoples souls out? Of course. Do you think I'm a monster?"

"No, I mean the exploitation, the glitzy ...commercialization of the Holidays."

"Eh. Sometimes." He pauses in consideration. "But then I think about what evil those people could be doing. Compared to that.... It's a mitzvah."

Still not the End


	4. Hope

It was a better evening that I had expected.

I followed a suspected burglar and ended up taking down a good-sized meth lab. Which justifies Ragman taking the night off. Drugs are more my game anyway.

Meth labs are flammable, and toxic, but the worst part about them is the smell. Very distinctive. Most 'chemists' try to disguise it by keeping animals. Goats or pigs usually. Which gives the labs another distinctive smell.

They also tend to be heavily guarded.

From my perspective it wasn't one of Batman’s more spectacular performances. Compared to eternal damnation, I lost something of the fear factor. The mooks seemed almost glad to just be arrested. The cops were delighted with the bust. I wasn't so thrilled. In the middle of stopping the 'boss' I landed straight in a pile of shit. Broke the fall, but oh the smell. At least I landed on top. Fortunately, the situation was serious enough that no one had time to notice. Except the boss, of course. And from now on he'll have his own problems to worry about. But I noticed. All the way back to Gotham. Even a rough shower at Ragman's lair could only do so much.

Worse yet, Alfred would notice- and nothing would dissuade him from commenting.

I decided to drop by my office first. Better part of valor, etc. At 5 am the building should have been all but deserted, and I had some effective soaps in my bathroom. And another suit. And shoes. The uniform could be autoclaved. As for Matches' unfortunate outfit? I'd find a dumpster for it.

Which was fine - until I walked out of the bathroom to find a woman in my office.

My first thought is threat, but despite what Dick says I never *over* react.

Very few villains are dancing to gospel music. Pushing a vacuum cleaner. While eating a chicken leg. Wearing a 'Janitor Johnny" T-shirt.

OK. Janitorial services. A bit early for this floor, but not a problem.

"Bobby, is that you?" She neither changed the music nor turned around. "Don't you dare go stealing booze. Not on my shift!"

I glanced down. Shirt and pants. Acceptable if not exactly the height of fashion.

"Not Bobby, I'm afraid. But I do promise not to make a run on the bar." Although, now that I think of it, a snack might be good. Somehow I didn't have much appetite on the drive back.

"Who are you? What are you doing in here? This is MR WAYNE’S office, I'll have you know."

Nice to know the name gets some respect.

"And I'm Bruce Wayne."

That got her to turn around. Which means we both got a good look at each other. Black, female, maybe twenty-five, 110 pounds max. With a face that showed her opinion of me. "Lord, man, what *have* you been up to? You shouldn't say up like this if it takes you that hard."

Well, that would trash Bruce Wayne's reputation. If he had one.

"Just in from a business trip. Don't let me disturb you." I checked my mini-fridge. Nothing. Damn. I had hoped the caterer had left some snacks. At least there was still some protein drink.

"You hungry?" She pointed a chicken leg in my direction. "Here. That stuffs no good for a body."

"I couldn't take...."

"Eat. I got plenty." She reached into her cart and pulled out another foil wrapped chicken leg. "Good party tonight. Interactive Tolerating or some such. All those rich folk to busy talking to eat. I got the chicken and the shrimp."

I took a bite. It was excellent. My apology to the chef.

"Quite some party then."

'Yep. Good time of year for parties. I got to work one last night and two tomorrow. The Gotham Ladies League Luncheon and the Civic Spirit Dinner Dance. Lobster on the menu. And those fancy ladies never touch their food. Here." She handed me another package. "I got rolls too."

What does one say? "You sure I can't offer you something?"

"Got any soda in there? I'd do the vending machine, but it's a long walk. And 'sides, a dollar-fifty a can is just plain evil."

"No soda, I'm afraid. But I have some orange juice."

"That'll do."

I poured her a glass, and took another for myself.

Memo: Discuss price with Trent. He leases the space, but I don't want my people robbed.

"So you....work for a caterer? During the day? And also here?" I wonder if that’s where Alfred developed his Tupperware habits?

"Well, only for the season. 'Cause of their being busy. And 'cause of while it don't pay so well the food is real good. But come New Year I won't be needing the other job. My Preston, he'll be back from boot camp - he's my baby’s daddy - and we'll be getting married. That gets us base housing. So then I'll do fine with just this one job."

I stepped aside as she dusted past me. She rinsed her glass in the sink, and mine after it. Then set them both in the dishwasher.

"That's why I was after yelling at you. It's a good job for me, and I don't want Bobby messing things up. Not that he's not a good worker, but sometimes he just don't think, if you know what I mean. But it’s nothin' bad. Just the season."

"So you...enjoy the Holidays."

"Heaven yes. This year 'specially. Mama's doing fine and my little Lyle, he's about old enough for Santa. I got his picture taken down at Gotham Plaza. Sent it to his daddy."

She paused in dumping the trashcan into her cart.

"We are truly blessed. Here with our homes and our families. Not like those poor war orphans on the news."

She snatched the empty juice can off the counter where I had left it. Apparently that belonged in recyclables.

"Say, if you ain't hung over, you think I could turn back on the vacuum. I got a schedule here. If you're not going to use the phone."

"No problem. I can see you have things well in hand."

Still not the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who doubts the bit about the food. I am a member of a historical group. We were asked to do a 'charity' demo for a 'World Hunger' dinner. Long story short, the CAKE cost more than my car (and I don't drive a junker) and they used whole cheese and Virginia hams for TABLE DECORATIONS on the buffet. With no plans to salvage them afterwards. Lets just say it solved MY hunger for a month.


	5. Twas the Night before Christmas, and all thru the House

"Master Bruce. I will need to be out for an hour or so. If you can spare me?"

I look up from the R&D report I am trying to read. "Of course, Alfred."

Well, that caps it. Christmas Eve and Gotham's most popular playboy is down to zip. Not that I didn't have invitations. Some even from people I knew.

I shouldn't be so cynical. I do have friends. Clark and Lois always let me know I'd be welcome in Kansas. Caroling and a sleigh ride, he said. It honestly sounds like fun. Any other time I'd be tempted to accept. But tonight? The last thing I need is to see other people’s families having fun.

Lucias Fox and his wife invited me for dinner and church services. Delightful people. I went three years ago. I had a wonderful time. Two days after New Years their minister came by and asked me to rebuild the school library. I did it, but... now I don't go there any more.

Barbara invited me over. No. This time is for her and her father. They've been through so much lately. And besides... while Gordon knows he officially doesn't *know* - which somewhat kills the conversation.

I suppose I could join Leslie at the clinic. That's where Jean-Paul is. No. He is sufficient security. More personnel would only be in the way. And tonight - somehow the whole 'service to others' thing doesn't give me the warm feeling I'm told it should.

Perhaps I *will* join him and Hellena later for Midnight Mass. I don't quite share their faith, but at least it would be something to so. Perhaps afterwards we can go on patrol.

I look at the tree. It's not as spectacular as the one in the main hall, but the library tree has always been 'ours'. The one we decorate ourselves, rather than leaving it to the floral service.

I always used the main tree. Until Dick came.

I remember Dick at ten, rushing down to tear open boxes under Alfred's disapproving eyes. Dick at fourteen with his first Vespa scooter. Dick at sixteen with his first Harley. I remember cookies and coca and terrible movies. The way he'd sit on the couch and read Christmas cards out loud. The rude remarks and bad puns that always made me laugh. I remember ties, and books, and a cherished string of really tacky t-shirts. That's the blue box, I'm sure. Dick would never let me go without an unwearable t-shirt. And I would never fail to wear it.

Dick will be by. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Whenever he can get off.

I though about asking Gordon if he can get some relief for Bludhaven, but he's short too. No one wants to work the holidays. They supplement where they can with whichever reserve officers are willing. Seventh-day Adventists, Jews, the occasional good-natured atheist. But it's never enough.

And people with families get the first shot at relief.

I suppose that's fair. I remember liking Christmas when I had parents. I suppose other people's children must feel the same.

Isn't what they say? The holidays are for children. They sure as hell aren't for me.

Still not the End


	6. Charity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Multiple POV's ahead.
> 
> Janissary appears in Planet DC #4 - which in my never to be humble opinion was the only gem in a large pile of scrap glass. Again, I can't say if she is still 'alive' in DC land.

"Tim Drake. Wake up." A ghost above my bed. A really good-looking ghost, even if her face is half covered. I'm mind-walking through my list of villains when...

"I am the Janissary."

Which means I'm sort of slow, 'cause it still takes me a few seconds.

"From Turkey?" The nation, not the bird. Not talking the ‘bit of bad potato’ Dickens meme here. "Yeh. I remember you. Justice League. Big time genie thing."

"Exactly"

I grab the sheets, glad I wore pajamas tonight. "So, ah, what can I do for...." How to you say ‘built like Wonder Woman and powered ditto. I mean, without getting slapped silly or just plain slapped down. Because… the lady is seriously out of my weight class, in more than just the meta sense.

"I have been asked to take you to Gotham. Will you go?"

"Sure. Just ...gimmi a second to find my gear."

"No need." A wave of her hand and I'm standing there in a navy suit. Tie and all. Got to say this for magic. Her ties don't strangle me.

She sets a stone dove on my nightstand.

"There. I will know if you are disturbed" Another gesture and a dove pin appears on my lapel. "And this will let me know when you would return."

As I walk through the glowing portal I look back and see myself - still sleeping in bed.

* * *

"Salaam aleikum, Jean-Paul" A voice from the air.

I do not move. It is wasted when fighting spirits.

"Salaam aleikum, Efendim. What does the Janissary want from the Angel of Death?"

"Nothing. But from a friend of a friend - rather more. I have a task I may need your aid to complete."

The wind whispers to me. I understand. And I smile.

"I will gladly do as you say. And - 'Caniniz sag olsun'.

* * *

"Dr Leslie?"

I turn to see a rather handsome young man in a white medical jacket.

"I'm Dr. Olhan. This is my colleague Dr. Selma Tolon." He gestures towards a similarly dressed young woman. Tall, tan, and truly beautiful.

We shake hands all around, as one does automatically, but I still don't understand.

"A mutual friend from Kansas asked us to come by. We're going to handle the clinic for tonight. And you are going home to your family. The car is waiting.

A friend? She must see my confusion. She leans over and whispers in my ear "Kal-El". Oh, that sweet boy. But I couldn't. And I say so. "No dear. You're very kind, but I couldn't take your Christmas."

"Please." She has the kind of smile that takes no prisoners. " Dr. Leslie, we're Moslem. And you're going."

Which is where it stands when Alfred comes and loads me into the car. So I guess I'm going. Feeling a little guilty, but? Those two young people certainly seemed competent. And if Superman vouches for them, well; I guess the clinic folks are just lucky tonight.

* * *

"Coffee, Dick?"

"No thanks, Amy. That stuff should be impounded."

Three hours into watch, and the whole unit is sitting at Station South waiting out the world’s grumpiest tactical alert.

I'm considering hitting the machine for another Zesti when the Watch Officer comes in.

"Good new guys. We are standing down."

What? There is so much sudden talk that I doubt my own ears.

"Just got the call from BH North. Seems the whole Fachetti gang just got carried in. By a flock of doves."

"Yep. Little birdie doves. Lots of them. Don't know how, but it seems they pissed off one of the big-time meta's. Some Mid-East chick. Miss January." He shakes his head. "Christ, where do they get these names? Whatever. The mooks are in and their singin' like canaries. So we are standing down, and if you don't got regular duty you can go on home."

That get a ragged round of cheers and high fives.

"Sergeant Amy. Want a ride?"

“On your bike? In this weather? I'll call my Dad. He and Mom will be staying up for me anyway tonight.” She elbows her way down the crammed hall to the lockers. “You have another shirt? A clean one? If I dress here I can maybe make choir service."

It is cold. North wind over the water and a low fog rolling in. Who cares? Leave now and with luck I can be in Gotham before midnight.

Still not the End


	7. Peace

It’s 22:30 when the alarms go off. Presence on the parameter with no access code given.

Alfred is still out, which could be good or bad, depending on the intruder. The Batcave computer brings up the cameras. Intruder is almost at the door. Evading the fence monitor. One camera gets a clear angle. Focus in, It's...Tim? I activate the speakers.

"Tim? Are you back?" If so, has something happened to his father?

"Just dropped in for the cookies."

"From St. Bart?"

"Got a lift from a friend of yours."

Sensors confirm it is Tim. I open the door. He looks cheerful, if a bit chilled.

"That Janissary babe. You know, for a super-heroine type she is really hot."

"I'll tell her you said so." I shouldn't tease, but kids blush so easily at his age.

I had no idea the Janissary knew Robin. Young Justice must be getting around more than I thought. No matter. I'm delighted that, in the mist of beaches and bikinis, Tim thought of coming home. He’s maturing into a very responsible young man. I'm proud of him.

Of course, I don't bother him with my musings. I just welcome him in and serve up some of Alfred’s special Lebkuchen.

"Would you like some coca with that?" There's a full pot from Alfred's earlier delivery.

"Sure thing."

He's still settling in on the sofa when the monitor light signals a car pulling in to the garage. Intercom link.

"Alfred?"

"Returned, Master Bruce. With Dr. Leslie and Monsieur Jean-Paul. They have decided to join us for the evening."

"Wonderful. Tim's here too. We're in the library."

They come in flushed from the wind. Dr. Leslie first, then Jean-Paul with an armload of packages.

I get a hug from Dr. Leslie. "Brucie. You look good. Not out working tonight."

It's wonderful to see her. She was like a second mother to me.

"Neither are you. How did..?"

"I really don't know how. But it seems a certain super 'friend' of yours found two Turkish Doctors to cover the Clinic tonight.”

"That would be Dr. Tolon?”

"And her friend Dr. Olhan. Do you know them?"

"We've met." But Kal hasn't. I consider that. Unless it was during the earthquake in '99. But Kal has a habit of making friends. "Coca?"

Tim pours her a cup while I help Jean-Paul lay his boxes under the tree. Not that they'll stay there long; but tradition is tradition.

We shake hands. He's still unfamiliar with the whole concept of Christmas parties, but he's learning. Last year he didn't want to leave the cave.

Alfred joins us with fruitcake and more cookies. Dick teases me about that, but I like fruitcake. And I am *not* the only person on earth who eats it. So does Jean-Paul.

Tim replaces my jazz with Christmas carols. Very festive.

I insist that they open their presents. It is Christmas Eve, and they won’t stay until morning.

Tim returns the favor, pushing over his own package into my hands.

I've indulged in three of those irresistible praline chocolates when the cavern signal goes off. Code shows authorized entry, but it’s policy to be careful. I'm activating the monitors when the clock case opens and - it's Dick. Damp haired and rather chapped on his cheeks - he really should wear a helmet - but otherwise looking wonderful.

"Dick!" I sit taller as he reaches over with a one-armed hug.

"Bruce." He looks around. "Tim, Les - she got you too?"

Tim jumps up to claim a hug of his own. "Kewl, Dick. How'd she spring you?"

"Watch it on the news, boy wonder. Fachetti and his whole gang are in the jug - and so the good guys got to go home early."

He helps himself to coca and cookies and settles on the rug by the tree. Now it's time for serious box slaughter.

I cherish Dick's face when he sees his present. I've been hiding it since my agents found it in June. A genuine 1882 'Glorious Gustav Grygory' poster from Astley's Circus. Dick's great-grandfather.

He catches mine when I read this year's shirts. Two of them. Powder Puff Girls. In pink. Jeez. I didn't even think those things came in my size. And - Oh God - Team Rocket. In Japanese. Who did he ask to find that? It's going to be hard deciding which one to ruin first.

* * *

Eventually all the presents are opened, and the last of the wrapping paper is bagged. Alfred dusts off the last of the cookie crumbs.

"Bon nuit, Bruce. I must go now if I am not to be late for Mass. And Hellena will be waiting."

"Me to, Bruce. I'd better head back before Dad notices I'm not all there, if you know what I mean." He grabs one of my chocolates. For the road. "I'll come by when I get home to pick up my stuff." He rubs his lapel pin and quietly vanishes.

"Dr. Leslie?"

"I'm staying. But I think I'll find my bed. It's been a late night for an old woman." She gives us both a last hug. " Merry Christmas Bruce. Merry Christmas Dick. " Then she is gone.

"An excellent idea. Master Bruce, I believe I will follow her example. If you no longer require me."

"Good night, Alfred, and - Merry Christmas."

I sit back. We're alone and the house is quiet.

"Well, Merry Christmas, Bruce."

"It is now, Dick. It is now."

* * *

Christmas Day. I have one phone call to make. To Turkey.

"Janissary. Batman here. I wanted to thank you."

"Please. You saved my country and my soul. The least I could do is save your holiday."

 

Again, not the end. Because, if we care, it really never Ends.

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©KKR 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit dated, but I still hope enjoyable. Thanks for reading. Happy Holidays.


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